


A Pros Collection

by Mab (Mab_Browne)



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Drabble, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-09
Updated: 2008-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-19 21:52:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4762379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mab_Browne/pseuds/Mab
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of ficlets and drabbles, most of them published around 2008/2009.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Just For One Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doyle drowns his sorrows after an op.

Bowie was wailing, "We can be heroes". It wasn't enough for Bodie to turn it down; instead, he lifted the needle away from the vinyl with quick precision, and then turned to Doyle, who had laid his length along the sofa.

"Stereo loud enough to wake the neighbours. Locks undone." Bodie picked up the bottle that lay on the coffee table and eyed the label in distaste. "Rotgut whisky. Maudlin doesn't suit you, Doyle."

The drink hadn't put any colour back into Doyle. Cinder-grey eyes stared out of a pale face over the top of a clear Swedish crystal glass that was very nearly empty. Pale face, washed out t-shirt and jeans, pale feet. "Locks were undone because I knew you'd be coming." Bodie fetched a glass for himself and poured out a measure. "And drinking my booze."

Bodie sat down in a chair opposite Doyle, stretching his legs out. It felt good. He'd spent too much time cramped into small spaces today. He took a tiny sip of whisky.

"Bloody hell. Greater love hath no man, that's all I can say."

"Don't drink it then."

"Gotta save you from yourself, mate." Bodie threw the dreadful stuff back.

"Not as if you owe me. All part of the service. Queen and country and keeping bullet holes out of the Cow's expensively trained agents."

Bodie poured another drink, but it sat in his hands. "Just worried about Cowley's book-keeping, were you? Can't say as I'm sorry to still be here and able to enjoy the good things in life." He tilted his glass towards Doyle. "Which this rubbish is not."

Doyle took a large swallow of his own drink. "Think that's what that bloody stupid kid wanted? To enjoy a few good things in life?"

"Dunno." Bodie took a mouthful. Disgusting, but it snaked down his gut in fire. Everyone needed warmth. "World's not fair about handing out good things to anybody, especially the stupid."

"So why aren't you and I dead, then?" Bodie turned his head away a moment. Unfair, unfair to them both, but even in the heat of a fire-fight he'd been horrified by the skinny, baby-faced corpse. The hope had sat in his mind through the clean-up. Let him just be baby-faced, some clear-skinned twit who was still old enough to know what he'd been doing. For Doyle's sake. But no. Fifteen. He'd seen Doyle wince when Cowley had given them the news.

"Like I said. World's not fair. Look at me. Blessed with good looks, intelligence, a discerning palate, and here I am on a Saturday night drinking your bloody awful whisky." He took another swallow. As punishments for stupidity went, enduring this was a doddle.

"Berk," said Doyle. "Want another one?" He extended the bottle in a rock-steady hand.

"You really do want me to suffer, don't you?" But Bodie leaned forward to hold out his glass and watched it filled with a generous dollop.

"Misery loves company, mate," Doyle said, leaning his head back against the padded arm of the sofa and shutting his eyes. But the lines of his face were set less tensely, and the glass lay cradled more loosely in his hands.


	2. Blaze of Glory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coda to 'It's Only a Beautiful Picture'.

Doyle spinning his makeshift torch amidst the eye-stinging reek of spilled plane fuel sparked Sangster's attention. Handcuffs bit my wrists so that gentlemen thieves could conveniently chuck me out 8,000 feet up, but that mad bastard sparked my attention too. Now, with free hands, I run a finger along the inside seam of Doyle's jeans. "Nice of you to _eventually_ convince the plods I was on the side of the righteous, Raymond. Should I wonder about you and cuffs?" No dirty laugh; just a broad, urchin grin beneath desire-lit eyes. Blaze of glory it is, then. One way or another.


	3. Kitchen Drabble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was written to a list of word prompts.

"Bloody hell," Doyle declared, "you'll have to just about chisel that mess off the pan." Bodie sighed agreement and flicked on the ceiling light; they needed more light than the lamp he'd hoped might provide some ambience, when what he got was the atmosphere offered by burned food. With a theatrical groan at the sight of the mess, he said, "Sorry, sunshine. Guess those just weren't the right potatoes for chips." Any excuse for the botch-up, and scrubbing charred spuds off his frying pan certainly wasn't the climax he'd planned for the evening; but then, house work could always wait...


	4. Keeping Company

Day is scarier than night. By day there's no avoiding seeing everything there is to see. Cowley's frustration, Bodie's scowl, the way that his own hand shakes infinitesimally before the action, as well as after. By day, one day, he might have to see someone hurt because he's getting too fucking old for this. And him not forty yet.

One night, keeping company in the dark, Bodie states, "Time we packed this in."

"That obvious, is it?" There's no hiding the relief in his voice.

"Always did need me to point out the obvious." He's a smug bastard, sometimes, Bodie.


	5. Luvvy Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bodie is a cat person. Doyle is not.

"Ooo's a luvvy boy, then?" Bodie crooned, while Tom (so named because he was ginger, so ginger tom, so...) weaved his way around his legs, leaving, Doyle was pleased to see, quite a lot of fur behind him. Served Bodie right, taking on that evil feline sod.

"You're daft over that beast."

Bodie just grinned, and bent to pick up Tom, who purred madly and resonantly, all the while blinking at Doyle with irritatingly smug satisfaction. Fur transferred itself to Bodie's black poloneck, although Doyle's attention was drawn more to the strong line of muscle that moved beneath the material.

"Can I help it if we're kindred spirits?" Bodie asked, all blue-eyed, boyish charm.

"That means that you're both hedonistic, lazy gits who'll eat anything on offer, does it?"

Bodie lowered his head, practically nose to nose with Tom. "I think that Ray gets jealous of the attention I pay to you," he murmured. He glanced up and said wickedly, "You roll your eyes like that, sunshine, you'll make yourself dizzy." But after a quick, rough kiss applied between the furry ears, Tom was deposited on the floor, where he squawked twice and then padded with great dignity to the saucers in the corner of the kitchen.

"So, where were we, then?"

Doyle grinned. "More where we need to get to, which would be bed. But you can take that bloody shirt off first."

"Ooh, commanding, aren't we?" Bodie lisped, but he obeyed.

Doyle waited just long enough before he said, " Not like I want any more cat fur all over me, after all. Sheds like nobody's business, your animal."

"Cheeky little bugger," Bodie proclaimed – and pounced. Catching his prey wasn't at all difficult since Doyle was more than willing to be caught, and if he was giggling at the start - well, Bodie knew how to concentrate Doyle's mind on more serious matters. Serious matters attended to, the two men lay in tangled ease on the bed. Doyle sighed, and stretched out, every bit of him. Maybe, maybe he made a growly, happy noise that might have sounded a bit like a purr. Still, Bodie deserved everything he got after he leaned up, stroked one big hand down Doyle's body and crooned, "Oooo's a luvvy boy, then?"


End file.
